


Icarus | Theseus | Frisk

by ohjustdisarmalready



Series: The Road Goes On [8]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Conflict, Gen, Sans as the final boss of the underfell pacifist route, Underfell Frisk (Undertale), Underfell Pacifist Route, Underfell Sans (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustdisarmalready/pseuds/ohjustdisarmalready
Summary: My take on how the Judgement Hall battle between Sans and Frisk would go in an Underfell pacifist run. Or: my story Whither Then, if Whither Then hadn't happened.You don't have to read Whither Then to understand this.
Relationships: Frisk & Sans (Undertale)
Series: The Road Goes On [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790866
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	Icarus | Theseus | Frisk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAnnoyingDoggo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnnoyingDoggo/gifts).



> I am literally so proud of this piece. I cried writing it. Which either means it's really good or it means I was too busy crying to make it good. Anyway this was a request that went WAY longer than I meant it to and kinda took over my life.
> 
> **For those who've read Whither Then:**  
>  The only difference in the premise is that the power cost for moving between worlds is unattainably high--simply put, Sans couldn't figure out how to do multiverse shenanigans. Thus, this starts out nearly identical to chapter 2 of Whither Then, bc Frisk's headspace is pretty much the same, and diverges increasingly as Sans's actions and attitude change from canon.
> 
> **If you haven't read Whither Then:**  
>  Pretty standard Underfell pacifist route. Assumes Frisk lives in Sans and Papyrus's shed as their adopted sibling, and Sans makes a habit of teleporting them back home when he sees them in Dangerous Places (literally anywhere). Also, you should read Whither Then once you finish this, because it's good and I worked hard on it.

There’s a long, golden hallway in front of Frisk. It’s filled with large, golden pillars; beautiful stained glass; neat, square tiles; a warm light that seems bright and absolute and brings out deep, deep shadows; Sans…

Huh. This might be where the gold for Sans’s tooth comes from. It’s so bright and yellow in any lighting, it seems to take the light with it. Maybe he stole part of one of the pillars.

…what is Sans doing all the way out here? Frisk hopes he won’t pop them back to Snowdin again. It’s already taken so many tries just to get this far. Maybe Mettaton would give them a ride back to one of his sets near the CORE…?

Sans flicks his cigarette to the side. Frisk is tempted to tattle to Papyrus; he hates when Sans smokes those.

“heya, kiddo,” Sans says. “long time no see.”

Frisk tilts their head. They saw him at the restaurant about an hour ago. They haven’t even died since.

“well, time is relative. anyway. i guess you’re still trying to get to the king, right?” Sans asks. “y’know, it’s not too late for me to bring you home if you’ve changed your mind.”

Frisk smiles at him. It was really nice of him to offer for them to stay in Snowdin…but they can’t stop before they find a way to take down the barrier. Once this is all done, they’ll ask him and Papyrus if maybe they can stay. They shake their head.

Sans sighs. He seems honestly disappointed. He gets up from where he’s been slouching on a pillar for who knows how long (probably an hour), and with two short strides, stands in the center of the hallway across from them, hands still in his pockets.

“you sure, kiddo? you really wanna do this?” he asks.

Frisk nods. There’s a million reasons they have to get to the castle: Even if they tried not to, that voice in the back of their head would drive them forward eventually. They need to meet the king and finish this. They won’t run away and risk getting people executed for helping them when they can sort it all out today.

They need to do this, and then they can do what they want.

“welp. normally, this is when i’d do your judgement.” Sans shuts his eyes and leans back as if there’s a wall in the middle of the hall to support him. Still, under the veneer of ease, he seems tense. “but, to be honest…not a lot to judge you for. you know, normally people have…killed little kids, tortured people, planned out a whole genocide, that kind of stuff. after all that, it seems kinda pointless to bring up your huge sins of, what, lying about papyrus’s food being edible?”

His eyes crack open lazily, but he doesn’t quite commit to looking at anything in particular.

Frisk’s brow furrows. Papyrus’s food is perfectly edible if you have a high pain tolerance and a growing preference for vinegar straight from the bottle. They’re also not really sure what that has to do with Sans showing up in a very beautiful but kind of weird hall right in front of the palace.

Sans blinks evenly, focusing on Frisk. He doesn’t seem too concerned about his surroundings despite the myriad of hiding places around for potential ambushers—it’s like he thinks he’s somehow not in danger. Like in this hall, nothing can touch him.

Sans isn’t a very commanding presence usually. Normally he’s fun or angry or puzzled, but there’s a realness to him here that he’s trying to hide. He seems like he belongs. Frisk never realized how uneasy Sans usually is before just now, seeing him centered and certain.

It’s different. He’s talking the same and standing the same and acting the same, but he’s different.

Sans’s smile is just like always. His hands are in his pockets, not like always, but not totally unheard of. Something is tripping Frisk’s human instincts to pay attention, but maybe they’re just imagining it? Sans is just Sans. That’s all he needs to be.

“anywho,” Sans says, “you didn’t kill anyone, good for you. kinda wish you had. would make things easier for me.”

He sets his jaw thoughtfully. “you know that’s gonna end here, right? your whole ‘live and let live’ thing? you go talk to the king like that and he’ll crush you.”

Frisk frowns. They’re not a fan of their many impending deaths. It’s gonna hurt and it will probably suck a lot through a whole lot of LOADs before they can work things out…they hope that Flowey’s plan, whatever it is, turns out okay.

“look, i’ll give it to you straight.”

Sans sighs like the weight of inevitability has just gotten as heavy as it was destined to be. He speaks like he’s reading from a book—not a bedtime story book, but a recipe for his least favorite meal. A list of things and actions that all lead to something he doesn’t like at all.

“if you pass this hallway, you will go to the castle, like every human and a whole lot of monsters before you,” he says flatly. “just like them, you will die.”

He lets them think about that for a moment, like it’s a surprise to them. It’s kind of a foregone conclusion, though—Frisk hasn’t gone much of anywhere without dying at least once.

Sans continues, “king asgore will take your soul and destroy humanity. monsters will be free and on the surface, with all the space and sunlight we can ask for—and we’ll just keep on killing each other, just like we do here. only difference is, one last person will be killed at the barrier to get us up there.”

Frisk doesn’t think that’s true, but they’re not sure how to convince Sans of that. Monsters don’t even kill each other in the Underground as much as they used to. Why would they kill anyone on the Surface?

“monsters won’t change,” Sans tells them, “LOVE and EXP don’t just go away with a little sunshine. and you won’t even be around to see it, so what’s the point?”

The point is that _Sans_ would be around to see it. And Papyrus, and the dogi, and the shopkeep bunny that let Frisk hide in her store, and Muffet and…

Frisk doesn’t plan on forever-dying to break the Barrier. There has to be another way—the humans who put it up were still alive, so can’t Frisk be alive, too? Or can they donate their SOUL once they die later of old age? Or, if none of that works, they can at least beg King Asgore to spare their family from execution for the crime of protecting Frisk. He has to listen to them. For their family’s sake, it has to be worth it to try. That’s the point. They love their family, so they’re going to try, even if it hurts.

Sans doesn’t seem to agree.

Frisk is beginning to think that Sans has some self-worth issues.

They want to give him a hug and tell him that he’s not that bad. He’s holding himself in a way they’ve never seen before, though, not from Sans. He’s holding himself like he’s surrounded by or possibly made of broken glass. If they come any closer, someone is going to get cut. Frisk has to be gentle with him.

They don’t want to be gentle. They want to give him a hug and tell him he doesn’t have to be scared. They want him to believe in them. They want him to say everything is gonna be okay, and no one’s gonna kill them anymore. They want to be done being hurt.

But more than that, they don’t want to hurt him. Sans deserves better than to be in pain. So instead of all the things they want right now, they will be very careful with this new broken glass until he finds a way to put it back together again. They’ll try their best to help him.

“don’t you get it?” Sans asks, his eyelights piercingly bright and his face set. “you’re not accomplishing anything this way. you’re not helping. you’re just gonna die pointlessly, and everyone who was stupid enough to care about you is gonna hurt over it. that’s the only thing that changes.”

Frisk flinches. Okay, that one hurt.

_Your life isn’t pointless and you are not going to die,_ says a stray thought. Frisk takes comfort in it. _You can do this if you stay determined._

Sans scoffs. “monsters are _monsters_ , kid, i don’t know how you haven’t figured this out yet. the only thing anyone down here wants is a little LOVE.”

Frisk shakes their head. They know that isn’t true. Not even a little bit—real monsters are nothing like they are in scary stories. Real monsters are made of love, but not the kind Sans is thinking about.

Sans seems to read their thoughts off their face, like always. With a huff, he glances to the side, sockets drooping as if he had eyebrows to lower. His grin remains.

“look, i get it, right? you think things can be better. you want to make it better. i tried that, too.” His eyes are dim. He glances at his hands—scarred and broken, sometimes healed up right, sometimes not.

“when i was your age, i tried to get a better life for me and papyrus. i thought, we can be more than this. this isn’t what we’re meant to be.”

His tone goes a little melancholy.

“i wanted my little brother to be safe. i wanted him to be happy. i know exactly how you feel, ‘cause i tried to fix things, too.” Sans cuts his eyes to Frisk, suddenly intense. “and you know what it got me?”

He takes a tiny step forward. Frisk doesn’t step back.

“i just about killed myself, i lost everything, and my brother hates me,” Sans says, bluntly, angrily. “that’s all that came of it. that’s all that’s ever gonna come of trying to change things. if you go out on a limb, the branch snaps. always.”

Frisk glares right back at Sans, affronted. Papyrus loves him a _lot_ , and he knows it. They basically don’t even fight anymore. They don’t like what Sans is saying right now, and they don’t agree with him.

Sans’s intense look softens a bit. Frisk can almost see a sympathetic pain in him, a sort of recognition.

They think that Sans is being gentle, too. It’s just hard, when he’s covered in broken glass. But he tries to soften down to something that can help them. His voice is quiet and his shoulders round out a little, no longer aggressive.

“look, i know it’s not what you wanna hear. it sucks. i wish it were different, too. but you’ve just gotta try to make a life out of it, ok? you’ve just gotta take things the way they are.”

Sans takes another tiny step forward like he just can’t help it. Whatever immovable force they saw in him before is gone, now, or it never existed.

It’s just Sans, walking over broken glass to reach out to them. He reaches a hand towards Frisk a little, like he’s gonna shortcut them home.

“just come home with me, kid. there’s no reason you have to run off and die. you can be happy here, with us, ok? i know it’s not much, but we’ll make it work.”

The hand is coaxing, and Sans’s face is filled with honest hope that hurts to look at. “come on, sib. let’s go home.”

Frisk hesitates—they know the answer has to be no, they _know_ it, but they want…

Sans just looks so…

Frisk can’t quite say no. But they shouldn’t say yes…

They have to keep going. But they want to be happy, too; but they’ll never be happy is Sans is executed for making this offer to a human in the Underground; they have to speak with Asgore before they make any decisions that could get people hurt; but Sans wouldn’t die, Sans is strong and would protect them; but is he strong enough? Is Frisk willing to bet his life for something as selfish as happiness?

But he wants to keep them. Nobody wants to keep them. But Sans does.

Frisk struggles a moment too long.

Before they can decide—before they can argue it out in their head—Sans gives up on them. His hand falls and he shakes his head, looking away for a moment while he ruthlessly crushes the hurt in his eyes. It’s covered up with a flinty shell again before Frisk can even try. He steps back again, to the middle of the hall.

“you’re not listening. i don’t know why i bothered.” He flexes his hands like he’s stretching out before a FIGHT. It just seems to highlight how empty they are, how nobody is holding them. Frisk feels like they’ve failed him in an instant.

“Sans, wait—” Frisk says, but he’s not listening anymore.

Sans’s grin gets a touch more strained.

“you just don’t get it, do you?” he says. “if you pass here, you’re going to die. do you understand? you’re gonna be dead. gone. dust. i don’t want that. i’m the only monster who wants you alive more than they want some stupid, over-hyped confrontation between an _eleven_ —”

Sans stops himself before Frisk can correct him. He looks at them like he knows exactly what they were about to say, and he’s not impressed with it.

Frisk holds eye contact, refusing to back down first. They’re not eleven anymore. They’re not flinching away from every death and begging Sans to come save them. They can do this.

His furious grin turns into more of a sneer.

“oh, right, sorry, you just turned twelve, didn’t you? my bad. what was that, about six weeks ago? yeah, we made a birthday cake and everything. think i’ve got a picture in my wallet. you look just adorable in your striped shirt. so i guess that means i’m the only one who isn’t on the edge of his seat, waiting to see what happens when you pit a _twelve-year-old_ against the King of All Monsters. long may he _fucking_ reign.” He looks like he would spit if he could. The term ‘spitting mad’ has never made more sense.

Instead, he makes a sound of disbelief that’s not even close to a laugh.

“i thought at least papyrus would do something, but no, looks like it’s just me. like always. i’m the only one who sees a problem with getting an ‘era of peace’ by sending a little kid to the slaughter.” Sans snorts, gesturing like he’d like to roll his eye. “or maybe it’s the freedom they want—like they’ve _ever_ deserved it. like they’ve earned it by hiding behind my kid—”

Sans cuts himself off before he can begin pacing, shifting foot to foot like some restless animal watching its handlers tap the glass and wishing he could bite their fingers off.

Frisk doesn’t try to interrupt him. He sounds like he really needs to talk—and it scares them, a little, seeing this fire in their cool, cocky big brother. He fights with Papyrus, sure, he snipes and shouts and gets frustrated, but—this is different.

This is like talking to someone else entirely, some person inside of Sans that they’ve never met.

Maybe Frisk would love this person a lot if they got to know him. They think they would love him _so much_ if they’d ever gotten the chance to see him before. But right now he’s a stranger, and Frisk doesn’t know what he’s gonna do.

Sans sighs and gives in to finishing his sentence.

“…they’re all hiding behind my kid sibling. they’re all in their homes hoping you’ll take care of it, dethrone the king without the hassle of having to work for it. give ‘em the sun and surface on a platter, like that changes what they are. maybe walk right up and put your head on the chopping block while you’re at it—i guess i’m the only one who cares what it’ll cost you. ‘cause that’s what monsters are, kid. when it comes down to it, there’s nothing in them that’s good.”

He looks sad for a moment, or…no, he looks disappointed.

Sans has never been disappointed in them. Maybe that’s not what’s important here, but a little piece of Frisk shrivels up and dies. He’s disappointed. He doesn’t want them anymore. Frisk messed up bad and now he’s disappointed in them.

Sans says, “if there were anyone worth saving, they’d be with you now. they wouldn’t let you walk off to die along. and, see? there’s no one. it’s just you and me, kid. there’s no reason you shouldn’t just go home—there’s no reason for you to die like that.”

Sans shakes his head, and the cloud passes over his face, buried under static electricity and ozone and lightning waiting to strike.

“but of course you’ve gotta fight me on this.”

He’s standing in the middle of the hall. He seems very broad and difficult to move right now, like an uncooperative rock puzzle.

Frisk takes a step forward and looks down the hall. They don’t want to fight with him. They just want to get to the end. They just want to make things safe so they can go home already.

They just need to get through King Asgore. They just need to get through one more FIGHT. Then they can show Sans he’s wrong about monsters and he won’t be disappointed anymore. They can talk to Sans and ask him to please let them come home with him, they can make it safe for him and Papyrus to keep them, they can be _done_ being scared. Every monster can be done being scared.

“I need to go to the palace,” Frisk insists. And then, since that didn’t seem to convey what they need him to know: “I _need_ to go to the palace.”

“nope,” Sans says. “i’m not letting you do that. how’s about you try…literally anything else?”

Frisk stomps a foot like Papyrus when he’s angry. He’s not _listening_ to them.

“the answer’s no, kid,” Sans says. “i’m serious. i won’t ask again. **go home**.”

Frisk shakes their head. They have to do this. They have to go to the king, and they have to make Sans understand. They take another step forward.

They don’t even have time to notice the FIGHT screen before their world is consumed in light.

* * *

“look, it’s ok. it’s gonna be ok. just give up,” Sans coaxes.

This is the fourth time they’ve had this fight. This time, Frisk has gotten through three of his turns, and used the best healing items they have already.

Sans barely looks winded. Their HP is nearly gone.

“No,” they grit out. Sans is wrong. Things would be okay if he would just _trust them_. They’re not going to let King Asgore forever-kill them. Sans is wrong about monsters and he’s wrong about this and they love him, a lot, but they can’t listen to him this time. They can’t.

Frisk SPAREs.

“what are you proving like this? if you’re not gonna win against me, you haven’t got a chance against asgore. hell, you’re not even healing anymore—do you want to lose? if this just what you feel like you have to do before you give up and let me take you home already?” Sans asks. Almost lazily, he sends a single tiny attack, which Frisk dodges, before they’re winded by a swift, blunt bone in the back. Down to 1 HP, now. Sans always fights dirty.

Frisk finds themself on their knees, and scrambles to stay there instead of passing out and hitting the floor. Their vision tries to escape them—it’s only with effort that they bring it back into focus, staring at the golden tiles in the golden hall.

Sans’s battered sneakers stop just in front of their faltering form, and then they’re pitching forward into his arms as he crouches to scoop them up. Or, maybe he just catches them. Frisk is out before they can feel his hand patting their hair.

“it’s ok. i’m here. i’ll take you home,” he murmurs.

* * *

Frisk dreams of a man’s deep voice.

“Chara!” it says, “You cannot give up just yet! You have to stay determined!”

* * *

“fancy meeting you here.” Sans strolls into existence form behind a pillar. He sounds like he does not fancy meeting them here. “some people just don’t know when to quit, huh? that’s fine. i’ll help you figure it out.”

Frisk dodges more than half of his first attack, then SPAREs him. He looks annoyed.

“i get it, you know,” he says, casually. “you find something you think is so right, you think you’d do anything to make it happen. it takes over everything. there’s nothing else that matters—you don’t care who you hurt trying to make everything right, ‘cause they’ll get un-hurt, right? once you get what you want, it doesn’t matter how you got there.”

Frisk shakes their head, but can’t respond, because they need to put their all into nailing the bone sequence he sends after them. Gravity is treacherous, and speed isn’t on their side, either. They watch his hands very carefully while he speaks.

Since he won’t kill them, they can’t predict his attack patterns as well. They don’t just get dumped right before the FIGHT, they have to walk all the way from Snowdin. It takes a long time.

“kid, you’ve gotta know that it’s not worth it in the end. sometimes you just can’t get what you want.” Sans seems to believe what he’s saying—Frisk’s least favorite part of this is, as he sends wave after wave of bones at them, he looks almost sympathetic. Each bone whittles away at their HP, but he hardly looks like he’s hurting them.

He’s still not listening. He might not even be listening to himself.

Frisk shakes their head and spends their turn healing. They’re back up to 20 HP, now.

They don’t know how to get through to him, but something in the back of their head (and in his CHECK text) says _he can’t keep this up forever_ , and so they keep trying.

They said wanted to help Sans. Maybe, after he stops attacking them, he’ll let them help. They’ll help everyone. They have to stay determined.

“look, if i thought you could win, i’d let you pass. do you think i don’t know what it’s like down here? this isn’t a place for a kid to grow up. this isn’t…” Sans waves a hand at the Underground in general, with all of its monsters and miseries. “i’d get you out of here if i could, kid, i really would. you know that, right?”

Frisk shakes their head. They’re not giving up. They’re not running away. It can get better.

The Underground, Sans, Frisk—they can all get better. They can all be better versions of themselves. Sans is really upset right now and he can’t see it, but everything can get better if they just stick around enough to keep trying.

They don’t want to give up on their family and leave for the Surface alone. They don’t want to kill King Asgore. They just want things to get better.

They keep trying.

* * *

“it’s not worth it,” Sans insists. “this—monsters, the underground, all of it—none of it is worth it! this world tears people like you up and chews them apart until you can’t even recognize them anymore. you’re trying so hard to save us, well, there’s nothing left to be saved!”

He’s panting, shoulders rising and falling in great heaves of breath. Frisk is getting better, lasting longer. Maybe Sans really can’t do this forever.

Sans shakes his head, slumping his shoulders.

“just let me take you home,” he says. “this doesn’t have to be hard. i don’t wanna keep hurting you. just let me win, ok? don’t make me do this anymore.”

Frisk wants to make him happy. He would be so relieved if they gave up now. He would be happy. They would be happy, living with their brothers. Sans and Papyrus would make them happy.

_No._ That’s not enough.

This Sans would still be hidden deep down inside, scared of everyone and hurt and trying to hide it. He would still be in pain. He would always know, deep down, that they could come back here to this corridor, and he would be afraid. Would be angry. Sans never lets them help him, not ever—they’re too young, he says, or he doesn’t need anything, or they’ve done enough already and their job is just to grow up safe.

Frisk has never been safe. Their brother is hurting and he needs help, and for some reason, he won’t trust anyone but them.

They have to see this through.

* * *

Sans is sweating and his bones are trembling. His single blazing eye is burning up half of his skull.

“don’t,” he says. “don’t. you’ll die. just don’t go. please, i know i’m not the greatest, i know there’s probably someone on the surface who could take care of you better, but you _can’t go there_. he’ll kill you. please, kid. i know i’m not enough but staying with us has to be better than dying, right? or you can—you can stay somewhere else if you don’t want to live with us. we’ll work it out. anything you need. just come home. please.”

“No,” Frisk says. And then, because it’s important and because it’s true, “I love you. It’s gonna be okay. Trust me.”

Sans shakes his head. “you don’t know what you’re asking.”

Frisk SPAREs him again.

Sans takes a deep, shuddering breath. He squeezes his eyes closed. His fire extinguishes. He looks so tired.

“i…”

He shakes his head. His eyes pop open, one lit and one empty, like usual. They can almost miss how the edges of the iris are wobbling and sweat is pouring down his skull. They think the sound they’re hearing is him trying to suppress his bones shaking.

“fine,” Sans says. “you know, i’m pretty wiped. you win. you’ve proved your point. go ahead.”

He steps to the side, his eye burning a hole in them.

Frisk tentatively moves forward.

“c’mere a sec before you go, bud. lemme say goodbye?” Sans holds his arms out. His name is yellow. He’s SPARING them.

Frisk accepts his mercy, running forward and leaning into him affectionately—they knew they could convince him! They’re gonna show him it’s gonna be okay, they’re gonna make him and Papyrus proud—

Everything goes black.

“heh. you really that was gonna work? fat chance.”

* * *

“just _stop fighting_ ,” Sans snarls with no pretense of friendliness. “i’m not letting you go. _give. up_. you’re grounded.”

No one has ever grounded Frisk before.

Huge, skull-like monsters appear with a wave of Sans’s hand and fill the hall with light. Frisk burns, dodging frantically, weaving left and right and up and down even when none of those directions mean what they did a moment ago. Blue magic slams them between walls and platforms and endless bone attacks.

They do not feel very grounded. They think they would prefer to be a little more grounded, actually. They’re getting a little dizzy with all this turning around.

They SPARE.

“why don’t you just kill me? go in with a stat boost, if you’re so damned DETERMINED. ‘s not like i’m not gonna die anyway, when asgore realizes who kept you alive all this time. do it yourself, coward,” he taunts. the world lights up again in a roulette of bright beams that keeps Frisk running and jumping—they’ve had to be clever in this battle like no other.

The weight of Sans’s fury burns them.

Frisk SPAREs.

“i’m not letting you win,” Sans says. “whatever it takes, i won’t give up on you. you think i care if it kills me? ha! what a laugh.”

He does laugh, out loud, short and sharp. His eye is bright and his tiredness vanished in the wake of sheer willpower. Willpower that borders on something else—something that drives his laughter higher and more intense, that brings an edge of desperation to his attacks.

Frisk might have overestimated exactly how sane Sans is. They definitely underestimated how likely he was to attack them.

Sans stands before them for the millionth time as an unstoppable wall of sheer power. It’s not power Frisk ever thought would turn against them. “you’re not passing here. no matter what it takes.”

And still, as they fall to their last HP, he doesn’t kill them. They wake up, as always, tucked gently into their bed.

Their shed door is locked from the outside. The lock is shiny and new. Frisk pulls out a bone attack and gets to work on it.

* * *

Sans falls.

Frisk blinks, surprised—it feels like they’ve been in this FIGHT for weeks; trying desperately to make it through, getting hurt, waking up tucked neatly in bed in their locked shed, just to escape and come here all over again.

Sometimes, Papyrus will notice the lock and let them out, looking deeply troubled and wanting to talk to them about what happened.

Frisk LOADs, those times, and escapes the shed faster before he can notice. This is between them and Sans. They think Papyrus would be angry if he knew. They don’t want their brothers fighting over them.

They can fix this thing with Sans. He’s finally talking to them—they can make him understand. He just needs to trust them a little more, to let them help him. It hurts to see him in pain like this. It hurts to see how hard he’s fighting, when Sans never likes to FIGHT at all.

Now, Sans is on his knees on the floor of the golden hall, panting and sweating. The red flickering in his eye looks like it’s in danger of burning out.

_Might be another trick_ , something in them murmurs. Frisk doesn’t think it is. _Be careful_.

Sans glares balefully at them and struggles to rise. It’s their turn.

His name isn’t yellow. They SPARE anyway.

Sans teeters, for a moment, not quite able to get to his feet but unwilling to fall. Frisk draws as close as the FIGHT will let them, pressing up against the edge of the bullet box to be near to him.

The bone attacks he sends at them look vicious, but there are holes and patches in them where he can’t keep them solid. They tap one with their stick and it turns to dust.

“i won’t…” Sans’s eyes are barely open. “…won’t…”

Frisk keeps moving forward, dragging at the edge of the bullet box. Sans’s eye is fixed on them, but he barely seems to notice as they get closer.

Frisk SPAREs him.

Sans holds out his trembling left hand and his magic flickers weakly on it. Little scraps of light brush against Frisk without doing any damage. They can’t even feel his blue magic on their SOUL.

“no.” Sans sounds plaintive and miserable. He wants to say more, they can tell, but he’s leaning dangerously forward and all he says is, “…no.”

He still doesn’t want to let them help him. Even now, a stumble away from collapsing, he refuses.

He’s sweating a lot. Some of it is coming from his eyes in little red rivers that soak his cheekbones and run into his sharp teeth.

Frisk drags themself to him, FIGHT and all, and they let him lean on them before he collapses. His claws latch clumsily onto one sleeve their sweater, and his left hand drapes over their shoulder.

The light in his eye is fading. He’s falling asleep, leaving them to take most of his weight. It’s not a lot—Sans always looks so much more solid than he is, a delicate construction of magic housing an even more fragile SOUL. The armor of his hoodie fills him out, but Frisk could carry him all the way to Snowdin without getting tired.

Well, normally they could.

Frisk is tired, too. Sans fought hard and dirty, just like he’s always teaching them to do.

They shift to try to hug him back.

Sans jolts to awareness, claws gripping tight and forming an inescapable prison. For an instant, even his blue magic is back, flaring to life desperately and holding too tight. Frisk couldn’t escape if they tried.

He can’t keep it up. He’s just too tired. His magic flickers out, trying hard to catch them with a grip as strong as a butterfly’s wing.

Frisk puts their arm around him so they’re holding on to him, too.

“don’t leave,” Sans says. “don’t go. you’ll die. don’t go.”

His bones are rattling, but his grip is brittle. They could break free and leave him on the floor, shaking with strain and exhaustion. He’d be in no shape to follow them for a good, long while. He’d be helpless and alone.

They run their hand up and down his back. They can feel his ribs through his heavy jacket.

They gently move his right hand off of their sleeve so they can rummage through their inventory. He grabs the back of their sweater instead. He’s not willing to let go and leave his hand empty even for a second.

The angle is really hard to work with, and they have to shuffle him around a little bit. Sans doesn’t like it, making unhappy sounds as he struggles with consciousness, but he’s too exhausted and worn out to stop them.

They push the starfait at his face.

“no,” he whispers, eyes closed, just as a reaction to movement.

Frisk pushes it at his teeth insistently. Part of it disappears, dissolving into magic instantly. Sans is just awake enough to accept any source of energy right now.

His eyes open a crack, but there’s no light in them. He’s still slumped against them. Frisk pushes the food on him again.

“no,” he mutters, turning his face away. They think he might be awake enough to actually be refusing to eat, now, and not just refusing generally. He gets starfait smeared on his teeth for his efforts. Frisk keeps pushing.

“no. fuck off.” Sans’s bones tremble. The tremor is so tiny that they wouldn’t notice if they weren’t holding him together. They’re a little afraid that his finger bones will get left in their sweater if they move.

Tracks of red are still streaming reluctantly, exhaustedly, from his eyes.

“don’t…don’t help me if you’re just gonna leave,” Sans says.

Frisk puts the starfait away and takes out a hotcat. They push that at his face instead. He likes those better anyway.

“why are you doing this?” Sans allows them to feed him the hotcat. His voice is getting less faint, they think. When they lean back to look at his eyes, there’s a diffuse glow in them that might be magic or just the light in the hall hitting the back of his skull. They’ve never seen anything through his eye sockets before; he might not even have energy to put the black void in them, let alone light.

Sans fought hard, but he didn’t really want to hurt them. He was mostly fighting himself.

Frisk didn’t fight, because they weren’t trying to beat him. They just want him to let them help.

More hotcat disappears, and Sans’s weight shifts. His bones seem more solid. Frisk hadn’t even realized how they were going gray and brittle. They try to hold him more gently.

Papyrus once said that Sans is very strong, which is unfortunate, because most of that strength goes towards destroying himself from the inside. He said that that was why Sans needed someone great like Papyrus around, because Papyrus is very tough and Sans can’t hurt him in the collateral.

He said Frisk has to be very tough, too, and go to Papyrus for help, because Sans is very strong and doesn’t always know how to not hurt people. If they feel hurt, they should go to Papyrus for help. Papyrus won’t let them be hurt. He’s very good at healing and comfort and all of the things that human children need. He said so. Papyrus wouldn’t lie to them.

Frisk didn’t understand what he was talking about, back then. Nearly as soon as he stopped killing them for fun, Sans became their gentle, funny, loving brother, who was sometimes weird and bad at things but who always wanted them to be safe and happy. Sure, maybe he thinks the answer to life’s problems is murder, but no more so than anyone else. He’s always been there if they needed him. He’s always tried to keep them safe, which is no small thing for a human in the Underground. Now, he’s halfway killed himself because he’s scared of what will happen if they talk to King Asgore.

Sans is very strong, but being very strong seems like it hurts a lot. Sans is so very strong that he’s very, very fragile.

Sans has also finished off the hotcat. Frisk takes the starfait back out of their inventory.

“save it,” Sans mutters.

Frisk looks him over. He looks terrible.

“You look terrible,” they tell him.

“aw,” he rasps, a spark of the monster they love appearing. “and here i was gonna join the beauty pageants.”

Frisk huffs a laugh, and Sans makes a breath sound like he might be trying to, too.

Just as quickly, the spark gutters out. Sans heaves himself to his feet, stumbling but supporting his own weight. Frisk lets him go, but keeps their arms ready in case they need to catch him. The set of Sans’s mouth is grim.

“Are you gonna…?” Frisk makes a stabbing motion. They think it would only be fair for Sans to let them know in advance if he’s gonna try to FIGHT them again. At this point, it would be kind of like fighting a particularly despairing kitten—even starting to summon a bone attack would probably knock him right out.

Sans thinks about it. He thinks about it for long enough that his eyes slump shut and Frisk pushes him back upright before he can tip over. He staggers, blinking hard to try to wake up.

“probably not,” he says. “heh. you’d win anyway. don’t know what i was thinking.”

He looks at them, heavier, sadder. And then, again: “…i don’t know what i was thinking.”

“Can I help you get back home before I go? I think you should lie down,” Frisk says. “I promise I’ll come back too as soon as I’m done here. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

Sans’s shoulders hitch in what tries to be a laugh but sounds more like a sob. A new wave of red runs down the tracks over his cheekbones. “yeah, i…i’m sure you will, kiddo. i…”

He shakes his head.

“c’mere?” he asks, holding one hand out. Frisk is easily in arm’s reach, being as they are still kind of ready to catch him if he falls, but they get closer anyway. He buries his hand in their hair and tugs them in, tucking them into his shoulder.

“i can’t stop you,” he says. He rocks them side to side like he’s woken them up from a nightmare. “why’d you have to go and save me if you’re not gonna let me stop you…?”

Before Frisk can find a way to answer that, Sans squeezes hard, so hard their whole body is shaking with his. Then he pushes them gently back, reclaiming his personal space and looking away from them.

“i’ll be fine. got some food on me, just need a snack and a nap. i’ll…i’ll look after our bro, too. don’t you worry about us.” He clatters sharply as he turns to walk away. “…it’s been…i’ll miss you, human. don’t go out thinking nobody out there cared about you, ok? …goodbye, kiddo.”

The world goes dark, and then Sans is gone.

**Author's Note:**

> After this scene, Sans continues to sit in the hall and listens to the Asgore battle as it begins, telling himself he'll at least witness his sibling's death that way, since no one else will. In the end, he can't stand to listen and do nothing, and interrupts the fight by saving Frisk's life when they're injured. Not long after, Papyrus arrives, and then Undyne followed by Alphys, then Toriel, etc., and things progress more or less how Undertale canon does. I didn't write that bc...frankly it's not different enough from canon to justify a fic imo. But I hope you enjoyed this one! I'm really proud of it :)
> 
> For those who are curious: Papyrus would have absolutely kicked Sans's ass if he realized Sans just kinda. locked Frisk in Naughty Human Jail indefinitely. They've had Serious Conversations about how Sans is Not Going to Do That This Time, he will be a good brotherparent, he will not remove all the doors from the house and teleport everywhere for Safety. This is mostly explained in [Going Big; Going Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500997/chapters/61864519).
> 
> I hope you liked this oneshot (/Suffered) as much as I did! Thank you for reading :) and please let me know what you liked!


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